


The Swan Lady

by IndigoSaber



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Eventual Romance, F/M, High Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-27 00:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoSaber/pseuds/IndigoSaber
Summary: The illegitimate daughter of a high born lady of Dol Amroth and her Ranger lover. Left to be raised by a stern grandfather, Ilmarein is a proud girl with ambition and purpose beyond the life of privilege she was born to. Taking the unbeaten path has become a motto of sorts for this youth, and traveling to find the parents she's never known, Ilmarein is thrust into events she doesn't understand that will test her in every way imaginable. Beyond her lofty education, a knight's code of honor and her very dreams, she will find herself struggling alone against the unforgiving wilds of the North. Is her journey ultimately doomed to failure, or will she find that place of 'belonging' she's longed for all her young life?





	1. Prologue Part One: A Child of the City

I was born on a clear and hot, late afternoon in the Summer. I’m told it was the hottest ever recorded for our usually mild seaside city of swans and white stone. My mother was the eldest of five daughters and of marriageable age for some years when she met my father. A smart woman, she had refused a union of convenience or status, and with my grandfather being Lord of Arms for our Prince and the city- she could afford to wait. So she turned down one suitor after another, and chose instead to travel within the confines of her world that my grandfather would allow. It was one such trip when misfortune and good fortune befell my mother at the same time. 

A group of bandits had been camped out in the high hills near the main road to the city, and when my mother’s traveling party passed, on their way home after a enjoying the harvest festivals in the farming province of Lossarnach, the bandits found they could hardly give up the opportunity noblewoman’s caravan presented. They descended upon the travelers in a flurry of hooves and war cries, shouting their curses to the sky and my mothers horse set off at a frenzied gallop in fear. The story she recounted later for her sisters was of a hooded stranger galloping alongside her off to the side of her vision and she, fearing it was one of the bandits, spurred her horse to run on as fast as she dared. The horse obliged, outrunning her pursuer for a time, before good sense outweighed her fear and she attempted to slow her mare. Frightened, the mare refused and the gravity of the situation at hand fell over my mother with a great weight. She was sobbing still when the hooded figure caught up to her and in a gentle voice coaxed her horse to slow, then stop. 

What followed after was a torrid sort of romance, every bit as dramatic as it’s beginning, and the bane of my grandfather’s already short temper. My mother fell in love with her rescuer, who turned out to be a ranger of the wilds to the far North. One of the Dunedain, he called himself and it was accepted as such, for he looked much the same as we of the South. Dark haired, grey eyed and tall, my aunts tell me he cut quite the dashing figure of mystery. My mother was his long before he admitted to returning her love, and for just over a year it was said my grandfather waited for either the mysterious ranger to return back from whence he came, or for my mother to lose interest. When neither happened, and my mother began discussing wedding arrangements, my grandfather’s patience withered and he resolved to do something to solve his ranger problem that very night. No one knew exactly what he said or did to the ranger, but come the next morning, the ranger was nowhere to be found and my mother was left to console herself with the news that he was called to return to his home and kin in the North.

I was born the next summer amid the late summer heat and softly uttered scandal of my mother’s soiled reputation. For a time I think I completed her, for my aunts tell me she seemed truly happy in her care for me. She held me and sang to me, embroidered me blankets and bonnets as any mother would. But as I grew, with my fathers dark hair, broad shoulders and proud chin, it seemed she could hardly look at me without her goodnatured smile twisting to a restless frown. I remember her kindly, with soft words and encouragement, but I remember also a deep sadness I never could quite undo. And before I’d reached my fourth summer, she’d left on a trip from which she never returned. My grandfather told me she was well, that she’d written, but I was never allowed to know where and in time I learned to stop asking altogether. 

So my part in the tale began, an awkwardly gangly girl a full head and shoulders taller than most my peers. I was pale, but freckled easily and with my eyes a vividly pale green like my mothers, I had no hope of blending into any crowd. The cruel teasing kids hurl at each other seemed to come early for me, my first memory being called a boy by my aunts daughters in my sixth year. It hurt me that I couldn’t seem to dance as well as they, nor paint or sew with their skill, and at the time there was nothing I wanted more than to be accepted. It’s only now I look back on that time and smile. We all have our gifts, and sewing pretty handkerchiefs was never to be one of mine.

It was my eighth summer growing in the seaside city of Dol Amroth that I first picked up a blade. Corsairs had been traveling further and further North from Umbar, growing ever closer to reaching our city in their raids. Pelargir, far to the South had already been hit twice in nocturnal attacks that left their city burning and begging for aid from the Steward. The Steward left that job for our Prince at his Lord of Arms, my grandfather. Both left for the road South with most our knights, and so too did half our fine ships, determined to end this conflict no matter the cost. Two days passed in their absence, an uneasy silence spreading across the city as we all waited, united and equalized by our fear for loved ones fighting a battle far away. When the first of the Corsair ships was spotted, there was little any of us could do save fear the worst and prepare as best we could for the assault to come. With so many of our trained fighters far to the South, and half our warships gone, the eventual incursion to our beautiful city by these cutthroat pirates was inevitable. 

My aunts chose to do their best to help, as would be expected of any women in the position of our house. The eldest of my aunts aided the Prince’s sisters in getting the women and children most vulnerable to attack to a place of safety within the palace walls. The younger of my aunts took me and their daughters to a secret cellar I’d never discovered in my own childhood home and tried to usher us inside. The thought of being in an enclosed space screaming while the city above me burned was too much for me however, and I ran while they argued over the plan with their own children. Whether they noticed right away I was gone, or only noticed after the attack began, I never asked. But as rooftops began to burn in the warehouse district and the screams rose, I did what felt to be the only sane option. I took up my grandfather’s favorite dagger and marched to war as only a child who’s never known hardship or conflict can. Headfirst and headstrong I ran for the docks, determined to defend the home and people I loved. 

For as long as I live I think I will remember the look of the sun darkened Corsairs with their black hair in braids and their pale eyes shining in the light of the fires they’d just set. Murder was on their faces, I know that now, but as a child they seemed only to be overgrown bullies. I knew exactly how to deal with bullies, as I had for some years, and I charged toward them ready to do...well I wasn’t sure what. Ready to kill? Likely not. But I wasn’t going to let them pass, and I was certainly willing to do whatever I had to, to prevent it. 

The first of them caught me by the chin with the hilt of their curved sword and I crashed hard as I fell upon the stone paved dock. The next I remembered was one of my aunts, Auntie Emelle, yelling for me to get up. As I struggled to focus, the heat and smell of burning rooftops assaulted my nostrils. I opened my eyes to a hellscape of fire and ash falling in great flakes from the sky. I struggled, muttering to myself about the need to get moving as my aunt tried to help me to my feet. But I was already reaching for my grandfather’s dagger and remembering the face of the Corsair who struck me down. I had a score to settle.

“Ilmarein!” my aunt cried in urgent fury as I shook off her hands and set off toward the stairs leading to the Court of the Fount. I turned back, determined to do so only once.

“Leave the fighting to the men!” she demanded. 

But there were no men. We both knew this and I could see it on her face plain as if it had been written. There were no men coming, not for us or any of the other women and children crying throughout the city. What men we had were fighting for their lives in strategic places, most likely the palace, to protect as many of our people as they could. I knew that even as a child. The duty to our own was as much ingrained in us as it was our beloved Swan Knights. Our people, not the brazen or foolish individuals out here in the flames, the woman and children locked up with our princess and high born ladies to keep them safe. That was where I was headed, to do my part.

I got my wish, though it was nowhere near as grand or heroic as one might think. An eight year old, it turns out, is not capable of the sort of prowess in battle they expect of themselves. The first Corsair I found was almost my height, for though tall as I was, he was stunted and gnarled over with a hump. He fought with a curved dagger much like the sword of the first pirate I’d met, who’d knocked me unconscious in one blow. But the dagger and the man were small, and I was determined, even as he screamed and charged with a sick kind of grin. So I charged back. We smacked into each other, neither of us clearly with any kind of training. He was on top of me and grunting as he struggled with bringing down his own blade and I held it fast with my own, knowing if I did not, it would slice my throat. My arms screamed for a relief to the strain and I gritted my teeth so hard I feared they might crack. He smelled terribly and his alcohol stained breath fell foul against my face. I realized belatedly his squat stature left him vulnerable in a way I had some combat experience in and I brought my knee up hard into his crotch. He toppled over in an instant, and I rolled too. 

I hadn’t meant to roll with him, I’d just wanted to get away, but in my inexperience and fear I found myself on him then, and my dagger already half embedded in the side of his neck. Instinct took over, and I let out a deep, guttural scream of rage as I drew the blade the rest of it’s length across his neck. The look as the spark of life left his eyes in a wave of confusion and pain gutted me so hard that for one terrible second, I feared he’d driven his own blade into me at last. Frantic, I checked my body over then kicked away from him in shock and terror. My mind was moving far too fast for me to keep up with, spinning and leaving me dizzy. I’d killed a man. I turned my head and vomited upon the stones beside he and I until I tasted nothing but the bitter bile of my empty stomach.

Gasping for air, I took in my surroundings as best a traumatized child could. The wind was blowing and there was a heavy tinge of rain and salt upon the air. A summer storm was coming inland from the sea. Somewhere a horn blew, clear and long. The sound of Swan Knights coming to the rescue. As the rain began, heavy drops splashing against my head and stones around me, I heard the clattering of hooves as the Prince’s men stormed into the city to our rescue. My grandfather found me at the top of the warehouse district steps, still seated beside the man I’d killed with his dagger, bloodstained and rainsoaked between us. I spent the rest of the evening and far into the early hours of the morning in my grandfathers lap, though I was far too big to do so, wrapped in a fur lined blanket as he spoke to his men and later on, my aunts. I fell asleep there and when I awoke, it was in my own bed, in a fresh nightgown that smelled of the wildflower sachets my aunt Emelle was always making for our wardrobes, as if the previous days events, never occurred at all.

But the weight of a man’s life never truly left me as the months and years ahead came and went. I changed from a happy child eager for acceptance, to dark humored and uncaring of the ways of society or the acceptance of my peers at all. I was hardened in a way I didn’t understand, and it left a gaping distance between myself and the girls I knew that could never be crossed, even were I brave enough to try. What transpired instead was a series of increasingly volatile arguments between myself and my grandfather over my desire to train with the boys of our household- who by then were already a few years into learning how to use a variety of weapons and the strategies of war. 

The next few years are a blur in my memory, filled with late night resentment and shouting matches over dinner. I was dressed down like a soldier more times as a girl than I ever would be as a knight by my commanding officer. Yet eventually, my grandfathers stubborn and insurmountable temper seemed to soften and I was at last given leave to train alongside my male cousins in the use of blade and bow. For a long while I had no inclination of the road ahead, or why I pursued a path so unlike any of the woman around me. But as I neared my fifteenth year, it occurred to me I wished to do what I’d done in my eighth year. I wished to defend and protect...and a plan formed in my mind. Confiding in my teacher alone, we trained harder and prepared for the day I would be ready. For one day I knew, I would shape my oddity into my family’s pride. I would be a Swan Knight.


	2. Prologue Part Two: Ilmar the Manly

I was nearing seventeen when my swordsmaster told me I was ready. Grinning ear to ear I made my plans and in the morning, I went to the Keep to sign my name on ‘The Roster’. A parchment was placed upon the table just inside the grand hall’s doors in the Keep of the Swan Knights, and every year at that time, one lad after another came to sign their name as a signal to starting their bid to join the Swan Knight’s ranks. Not everyone was judged worthy to try, most simply weren’t. But it was law that all boys who signed their name were given a chance to gain entrance to the training program. 

So far as anyone remembered, or as I was aware, no girl had yet to try and sign her name. I was so certain I’d be the first, and as I entered the keep to sign my name, I found I was right for that year at least. For four other boys had already signed, and thinking myself clever, I took the quill and wrote my name in fresh ink upon the parchment beneath the last boys name. 

“Oye!” a man’s voice shouted, ringing clear in the hall.

The Grand Hall, busy and a murmur of voices only a moment before, fell eerily silent. My eyes widened, standing guiltily with quill still in hand and the ink of my name still wet. 

“What are ye doin’ there? No women, get out!” the voice shouted again, a man in a servant’s blue tabard stomping forward with hands waving angrily, his basket of soiled towels spilled and momentarily forgotten behind him.

I did what any self respecting knight hopeful would...putting the quill back on the desk I blew on the ink to dry it and dropped some powder across it, then turned and ran as fast as my feet would take me. But not before hearing the laughter of the men in the hall behind me. Cheeks red with fury and shame, I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the steps of my grandfather’s house. And if I’d thought the trouble ended there, I’d been terribly shortsighted.

I stuck much to myself until supper, donning the least troublesome of my dresses and yanking it over my head in resentment and braiding my head of tangled hair into something resembling what was expected. I was cautious and withdrawn as I made my way downstairs for the evening meal, my spirits dampened along with my hopes for the future. Avoiding the eyes of anyone who might be judging my appearance, for I had this routine memorized by then, I slipped into my chair and waited for the meat to be passed my way. When it didn’t come, I dared a look up to find most of the eyes upon me. The blood seemed to drain from my face as I looked at last to my grandfather, who sat at the head of the table, his chin resting upon his knuckles as he regarded me coolly. 

“I heard the most amusing story today.” he said.

I gulped, reaching for a basket of bread nearby. Even the other men at the table were silent, no one daring to speak out of turn in my grandfather’s presence. The world could have ended in that moment and not one of us would have moved without his say so. Except me...and somehow it was always me. I tore into my bread with a loud ‘chomp’. My Aunt Emelle’s eyelids fluttered in a sign of fearful exasperation.

“Have you heard the story yet, Ilmarein?” grandfather asked, his tone and expression utterly unchanged.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned toward him, still chewing, then swallowed hard when I realized he’d ignored me and I would have to eventually speak. I swallowed another time then cleared my throat and forced a smile- yet another routine I was used to.

“I have not, Grandfather. What story?”

He didn’t miss even a moment in his reply.

“The story of the bastard girl who dreamed of being a knight.”

His cool expression and detached tone changed just as quickly, turning into something sharp and frightening. I put the bread down upon my plate, folding my hands into my lap. I couldn’t quite look him in the eye, but I did my best, settling for the region between his mouth and nose.

“The law says anyone can try.” my voice was quiet, weak.

One of my Aunt’s husbands sucked in a breath and I locked eyes with him for a moment. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. A fair warning I simply wasn’t going to take. Grandfather’s hands slammed down hard upon the table and everyone present flinched.

“The law states any man can try, are you a man?”

I remained silent, knowing my well being depended on it. Yet, after long moments had passed and he was still staring at me, I realized I would have to answer. 

“No, Grandfather.”

He rose from his seat, pacing behind the high backed chair before he leaned upon it with his forearms, loathing in his gray eyes and eyes aimed only at me.

“What am I to tell the Knights when they read your name? You know I will be there during the reading, do you not? I help oversee the training! The Prince will be also and he will want an answer. Shall I tell him my granddaughter has no respect for his laws and he can treat her as he would anyone else breaking them as blatantly as you’ve just done?” 

In truth, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’d wanted a chance to prove myself so badly I hadn’t considered it a breaking of the law. Bending it, surely, but not breaking. It hurt me more than I cared to admit to know I’d put my grandfather in such a position. It was unkind to risk his good name for a chance at any dream of mine, but I’d done it anyway and there was little I could do to make it better after the act. My eyes were stinging with the threat of tears when I looked him in the eyes at last and for a moment his loathing held, then softened, and he was the grandfather of my youth again. That was all it took for the tears to fall and in shame, I ran for the second time that day.

Safe in my room, the door bolted and my face buried in my bed sheets, I cried freely for the frustrations that felt so overwhelming and real for a seventeen year old. I was no less ready to try as the boys who’d written their name before me, I knew this and I was certain my grandfather knew it also. But by accident of birth, I was to be denied the use and skill I had in favor of struggling under that which left me in misery for the rest of my days. I wondered not for the first time if that were the reason for my mothers sadness, and for her leaving. If I too were destined for some unnamed place far away from the only city I’d ever known. I was pondering this still when a knock came upon my door. Politeness outweighed my better judgment and I answered it to find my grandfather standing upon the other side. 

For a moment, I considered closing the door again, but my manners got the better of me and I let him in with as much a smile as I could muster. For a long moment he was quiet and we sat in a heavy silence upon my bed, then he turned toward me and put a hand over mine.

“I do not wish more blood for you. It is my duty to you and your mother to care for you, to protect you.”

They were kindly meant, but they fell like a death knell upon my dreams. Yet one more reason why I could never be, or even try to be, everything I’d yearned and worked toward these past few years. I wanted to cry again, or beg him for this one chance. Any chance, to try. But I stayed silent, too tired and defeated to start another argument. Grandfather patted my hand with what should have been an encouraging smile, instead it felt patronizing.

“You’ll see lass, war’s no place for girls, even girls as brave as you. I’ve put enough of this city’s boys in the ground, I couldn’t bear burying you.” 

And for his part, I knew he meant it. His throat caught at that last bit, and I knew he was doing what felt best as the head of our house. I couldn’t quite hate him for it, in spite of what I was being denied. But I’d realized as he spoke there was one last chance left open to me, and it was a bold one for certain. Yet I was more than prepared to take it and no sooner had Grandfather left my room and I latched my door, than I began planning...

The next week leading up to the trials passed in near obscurity save for one night in particular. It was two days before the trials and the last day to sign one’s name upon the parchment in the grand hall at the Knight’s hold. I knew I would have to be careful this time, my station as ward of the Prince’s Lord At Arms wouldn’t protect me from the censure of the Knights, I’d already learned this the hard way. So as I made my way across the causeway, I made sure to keep my eyes down, my jaw set, and my lips drawn. In breeches, a baggy shirt and vest to cover my bound chest and my long hair caught up in our stableboy’s cap(that I’d borrowed under threat of no small harm), I thought my costume passable for the task at hand. If anyone looked closely, perhaps not, but then I wouldn’t be staying long enough for that.

Inside the grand hall, my welcome was quite different to the one I’d received a week ago. The knight on guard duty nodded as I entered and made my way toward the table. The servant who’d yelled at me before, walked right past me, too busy to be bothered by a lanky ‘lad’ such as I. I reached the table without incident and looked down. Five more names had joined the list, and my teeth clenched hard when I saw they’d changed my name. Instead of crossing it out, one of the more witty of the boys had added ‘the manly’ next to it. My face grew hot as I stared at it far longer than I’d intended. A young servant materialized out of seemingly nowhere, his kind face looking mine over.

“Can you write boy? Or shall I write your name for ye?”

I shook my head, avoiding eye contact and quickly wrote the name I’d devised down at the bottom of the list. 

“Ilmar. A good hand you’ve got, good luck to ye.” the servant replied after I’d finished. 

I muttered my thanks, and sketched as hasty a retreat as ever I had back over the causeway. Ilmar...’the manly’...would be trying for the training program, even if I could not.


	3. Chapter One: The Training Trials

Each hopeful was given one day to prove their mettle for the right to join their fellows in training to become a Swan Knight. Most joined at fourteen, as this was the customary age for a boy to begin training to be a Squire. But it wasn’t unheard of for the poorer folk to give it a try later, when their fathers could afford to let them go. I was counting on this, the morning of the trials, to pass unnoticed into the testing area for my own chance. It was a slim chance, I had to admit. But it was more a chance than the shouting match and demands of my grandfather when I’d tried to do so openly, and I would take what I could.

All the Knights would be in attendance, as well as my grandfather and the Prince himself. To say that I was a jumbled mess of nerves and self doubt, was a massive understatement. I’d told no one and though it caused me a great deal of guilt, I’d lied directly to my grandfather and auntie on where I intended to spend my day. Having been officially barred entrance to the day’s trials, both of them readily accepted my excuse of spending the day on within the Court of the Fount looking over the market stall’s. It was a lively place with sweet cakes, warm bread and any number of things to entice a youth such as myself for at least an afternoon, so I left just after sunrise without any fuss or attention. 

But I wasn’t headed for the market. Just outside the house’s gated entrance I made a left turn and headed around for the servant’s entrance of the house. There, beside the door, stuffed behind the rain barrel, was a satchel I’d placed the night before. Taking it, I headed for the stables and quickly changed behind the great stack of hay bales meant to last the coming winter. It was near perfect, as I was wedged between the hay and the stable wall, with the house’s perimeter wall to my back and a view of the back door from where I stood. It was only minutes before I’d wrapped my chest, donned my tunic and trousers, my mail shirt and tucked my hair up into my helm. I was on my way before anyone had even come outside to feed the horses.

Grinning, perhaps foolishly, as I made my way toward the fields outside the city’s main gate, I prepared myself for the day ahead by going through each event with methodical care. First, the physical test, an obstacle course designed to test not only our fitness but also our flexibility and speed. Next came strategy, where each hopeful was given a hypothetical set of circumstances in the city, and an alottment of time to solve- either defensive or offensive in nature, according to the Prince's chief advisor's choosing. Third came the horse race, just after the noonday meal; to see if there was skill enough in any of the hopefuls to become the cavalry the Swan Knights were known to be, at all. Last, when we were sure to already be exhausted beyond measure, came the final tourney. A free for all where those who remained standing when the given time for the skirmish ran out, were to either be chosen by a Knight to squire...or were invited to return the next year if they so desired. 

For even if one survived the day, there was still no guarantee of being chosen. Not every capable man could be a Swan Knight after all, only ever the best of them. I'd known the day was going to be a long one, but approaching the city gate it struck like a lead weight in my gut just how daunting this day was designed to be. Even under the best of circumstances a lad would be hard pressed to succeed, and here I was attempting it while maintaining both a disguise and a lie that could fall apart the very moment anyone I knew got a good look at the face beneath my helm. I gulped hard, it would not be easy. I’d known that. But right at that moment, it felt nigh impossible. 

“Ilmar!” a voice called out and I turned, surprised and a little caught off guard. 

If I hadn’t been thinking about the name I’d made up for this event at that second, I might not have even recognized I was being beckoned at all. It was the servant from the Knight’s Hold, his wife and small child beside him. I smiled and waved, and the little one jumped up and down in the excitement as people made their way to the field.

“Good luck to ye!” he called out again over the buzz of voices. 

“My thanks!” I called back, heartened that at least one person in the crowd would be cheering for me.

From there I pushed through the crowd out onto the field where rope and posts had sectioned off a large portion for the day’s events. It reminded me of the large festivals in the city’s main market, for the voices that called out and chattered so loudly around me were mostly happy. Somewhere a minstrel had picked out a happy tune on a lute and people were laughing at what presumably was a funny song or story to accompany the melody. The girls had ribbons in their hair, all the color of the Dol Amroth standard. Whether I made it or not, it was sure to be a good day for many and that too, although I found it odd- heartened me enough to chase away the greatest of my nerves.

“Name?” a voice barked as I came to the main assignment table where lads around me were suiting up or down, depending upon the manner of their arrival. 

“Ilmar-” I began only to be interrupted before I could say the last name I’d made up for the occasion. 

“Ilmar, yes yes, go stand at the line when you’re ready.” the man seated at the table finished, without ever looking up to see my face.

Blinking, I unbuckled my sword belt, set down my shield, and did as I was bid. Other lads joined me at the line, their faces young and troubled beneath the light armor they wore. The restrictions for the event were to do so armored, and for that it seemed I had some luck. For I’d have looked odd indeed as the only runner in full mail and helmet. 

There were seven of us in all, and I took the time before the obstacle course to look carefully over my opposition. There were two lads I knew would be out in the first event, heavy set and already breathing heavy from the long walk to the field, the obstacles to come would surely be beyond their capabilities. It was the other four I worried about. Tall, as I was, they also were broad shouldered- but where I was still quite thin, they’d begun to develop lean muscle. Two of them were younger sons of lesser Lords in the Prince’s fiefdom, come to the city for this event specifically, I suspected. They’d have grown learning the skills of a knight, and would be hard to beat. Why they hadn’t already gained entry the more traditional way for nobility, I didn’t know. The other two, from their secondhand armor and simple, sturdy faces, I’d guess were either the sons of farmers or fisherman. Used to hard work that lasted from sunrise to sun down, they too would likely be a challenge. 

The Prince arrived while I was taking stock, my grandfather and his advisors taking seats at either side of him at a dark banquet table set upon a platform of gold and pearl inlaid wood. The Prince was a handsome man, dark haired and gray eyed as most of us, but where we were often soft in face his was stern. And I could easily see why he was oft referred to as a Lord of Old Numenor reborn. I’d heard him speak once or twice at festivals such as this, but being bastard born as I was, it was the first good look I’d ever gotten of so lofty a man. I found myself hoping, in spite of his stern face, that he was kind. For if I was discovered before the day was out, I’d rather end it with my head still attached to my body than not.

There was a flowery, well spoken speech to welcome and explain the day’s events. But being as nervous as I was, I scarcely heard it, and it seemed no time at all before we were all standing at the ready and awaiting the signal to begin. What happened after is mostly a blur in my mind. For I ran with everything I had and focused only upon what was in front of me with the kind of wildness that comes only from desperation to survive. For me, it was indeed that dire. I came in second in the obstacle course, one of the Lords’ sons ahead of me by mere steps and the other some paces behind. Still panting and feeling as if I might lose my meager breakfast upon the grass, I headed in as straight a line I could manage, to the table where the Prince’s chosen advisor sat. 

I stared the Commander of the Prince’s Royal Navy in the eye as he delivered my scenario to the crowd and myself with much an air of a storyteller who’d saved his best tale for last. It was indeed, quite a tale. A massive host of Orcs from the mountains, tribes of hill men from the North and Corsairs from the sea. How would I best combat the three, when I had only men enough to defend against two? I stood in careful contemplation, studying the map spread across the table and the ornaments placed there to represent the enemy and my own forces. I recognized immediately that with such circumstances, no matter my choices, the city would suffer heavy losses. I knew too that this was not a battle designed to be won. After a time, still staring at the map, I spoke.

“I would send our fastest horses to Edhellond and Linhir in warning, then split my men according to maintaining points of entry at the Wharf and the Main Gate with orders to hold off the enemy for as long as they were able. The rest of our forces would be assigned to guide our people to safety out the lower City Gate and to the South, away from all three enemy hosts. With the last of our citizens safe, what remained of our men in the City would take up a phalanx upon the rear, further guarding our people’s escape. From there, our people could presumably find shelter in Linhir or move on to Pelargir while the bulk of our remaining forces dealt with the enemy on open ground where our Cavalry would have the advantage over orc and hill men alike.”

An uneasy stillness fell over the crowd, the buzz of voices that carried on all morning now a low hush. The people were not happy with my answer to abandon the city we all loved, that much I knew. There hadn’t been a real choice to stay, but the situation was fictional, and so their expectations of bravery and cunning had been also. I’d disappointed them by taking the challenge seriously, my answer practical and unimaginative. But they weren’t those deciding my success or failure, so I did my best to shut them out.

“They didn’t like your answer.” the Commander said loudly, looking out over the city folk with an expression of grim amusement, stroking the small growth of dark hair on his chin in thought.

“In such an unlikely event as this, I would consider your suggestion sound and well advised, whether I agreed to it or not. You may pass.” he said finally, winking at me as the crowd erupted into a cheer.

Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I left the field to find my things and the small lunch of bread and smoked fish I’d packed in the event I should make it this far. I was already exhausted and questioning my sanity as I sat against a small tree to enjoy my meal in peace. From a ways off I could hear the event still going on as the other three received their questions and answered. The Lord’s son ahead of me had passed and I could hear from the crowd’s cheering the Lord’s son just behind me had too. That left the commoner boys, as the two heavyset lads hadn’t even so much as finished the obstacle course. One vomited in the mud and the other forfeiting his place halfway up a rope ladder in tears. One of the common boys left made it past the strategy test to much cheering and raucous laughter from the audience, the other didn’t. I wondered what their questions and answers had been, but in the end couldn’t find it in me to get up and find out. With just the first half of the day done, only four of us were left. In the time I had left to eat, I barely tasted my meal at all.


	4. Chapter Two: The Girl Squire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just a quick note: I apologize for any roughness in this chapter and the extended time between updates. There was A LOT to pack into this chapter and all of it seemed important! At times I encounter issues during the writing process that need to be worked through and I take that time to do so. I hope it's worth the wait when this happens, but I give you my word that I do not abandon fanfictions. I may rewrite them a dozen times until I'm happy with it, which I have to admit I've done with several tales, but I do not leave them. You will *eventually* know the ending. 
> 
> I realize the ways of Knighthood are a bit historically inaccurate in this tale. I've flexed a great deal of artistic license to maintain a more high fantasy flavor as I feel is true to the world Tolkien created, and as we know very little about the structure of Gondor at that level, I also feel like it fits the atmosphere I'm trying to create. Tolkien wrote incredible tales about the males of various races in Middle Earth, I try to focus more on the female- but that doesn't necessarily mean this tale will be romance heavy. It was never meant to be. I hope my readers will bear with me as Ilmarein explores some interesting and lesser known locations in Middle Earth and has some incredible adventures. I hope you'll enjoy following along at times with a map and maybe enjoy learning some of the rich history that Tolkien established for his world even if Ilmarein isn't getting laid every chapter. 
> 
> So, that being said, buckle up Buttercup! Things are about to start moving!)

The call for continuation of the day sounded just as I was finishing my bread and I hurried to Dol Amroth’s main gate where the crowd had gathered around four courser horses and the Prince. I recognized some of the faces as people I’d met at one festival or banquet or another, but chose to focus upon the horse I’d been assigned. An exceptionally dark bay that stood anywhere from fifteen to eighteen hands, I’d guess. But was choosing that moment to lift it’s tail and leave a steaming pile of excrement on the pale stones of the city’s main entrance, and before the Prince’s speech had finished. The Prince made a face as the strong odor carried and gave me a hard look, as though there was something I should be doing to fix the situation, and instead of doing so, I found myself standing frozen and staring at my regent in wide eyed panic.

In the next moment the scandal of my assigned horse’s display was no longer the issue, as we were given the order to mount up and prepare for a race throughout the city’s streets to the Knight Hold and back to the main gate at race’s end. I was contemplating just how much struggle I was willing to let show as I climbed onto the tall beast when the servant from the Knight’s Hold stepped up beside me and laced his hands together to offer a boost.

“I know this one, his names Boton, he’s a wily one aye, but quick. Up ye’ get lad.”

I smiled in gratitude so immense I thought I might actually weep as the man helped me up into the saddle. The other lads had family to offer the same, I saw belatedly, and I’d have been left alone to be noticed again if the kind man hadn’t seen my need. I mouthed my words of thanks to him, not trusting my voice to remain as gruff as needed to maintain my farce. He nodded, patting the horses side with a kind smile.

“Good luck again, young Ilmar, my own boy is favoring ye’ to win. Make sure ye’ do!”

I made my way the few paces forward to the starting line with renewed hope and faith in the order of things. I had practiced years in the pursuit of this dream, and though horsemanship was not one of my great talents, I knew I could do this. I knew it with a certainty that made no other outcome possible. When the shout to begin was given, I stirred Boton forward with excessive vigor. 

Though I’d never ridden a war horse before, I’d seen them in practice formations about the city...and yet, that still was nothing compared to what it felt like to be on one. Boton surged forward, a solid wall of coiled muscle, his long legs moving a blur beneath me as I leaned down close to his neck. My hold to the rein was tight, though I left it slack in his mouth. He was made for speed and though he needed directions on our route, he knew more about speed and distance than I. With little instruction, I let Boton take the lead and he did not disappoint me. When the time came to make a turn, I guided with a tug and he turned with a strain of weight shifting on graceful hooves that skidded and slid over polished stone. I learned quickly to give him more time than I would a regular horse to make the changes in direction. The remaining commoner lad did not, and around a tight corner in the court of the fount he and his mount landed hard in the Swan fountain itself. 

The Knight’s fortress was close and I knew I was now last, the two Lord’s sons ahead of me and barely in sight. I would have to make up the distance if I expected to continue to the last event. I rode hard, spurring my horse as I had never done any mount in the history of my riding. My boot tapped it’s side and Boton lurched into a gallop I feared I could not control. The narrow bridge over the rocks and surf far below was a point I’d walked over many times in my youth toward the Knight’s hold with a thrill. Now, atop a giant horse, hurtling across the thin strip of stone made me want to scream. My competitors must have felt similar for they’d slowed to a casual run as they began the crossing. 

Boton must have comprehended on some level what we were doing, for he ran past the other two horses with a heavy nickering before snorting hard and thundering onward. We turned as we reached the steps leading to the door, then headed back over the causeway. I was now in the lead, I realized, as we shot past the other two and I was grinning like a mad woman as we hit the hard cobblestones of the street on the other side. Behind me I could hear the Lords’ sons shouting to their own mounts and knew my victory was not yet complete. 

The ride down the city toward the main gate was a hard one, my horse beginning to tire and the two behind me gaining the ground I’d taken such risks to make. Boton’s sides were heaving as he ran and I knew the choice between victory and harming him would be coming. In agony, with a curse shouted between my gritted teeth, I slowed his pace. One of the sons shot past me in the next instant, turning in the saddle to grin at me as he passed. I could hear the other behind me, but as I turned, I saw he was in much the same predicament, his own mount snorting as he struggled at a trot. 

I crossed the finish line at the main gate at an easy gallop, Boton having caught a bit of a second wind and finishing with his head held high, proud in a way that won my love. If I’d had the coin, I’d have bought him and loved him for the rest of his days on that merit alone. He was as fine a beast I’d ever rode, and his personality was entirely unlike any palfrey of my grandfather’s. I finally understood how the Swan Knight’s rode as one with their mounts, and I realized now the true reason for the horse race in our day.

Just beyond the finish line, the son who’d won the race was getting a scolding from the horsemaster for tiring his horse and was seeing to it’s care. The courser he’d rode was sweating, it’s coat thick with it, and it would be awhile I thought, before the son would be done seeing to cooling the poor beast down enough to be stabled. My own mount was hot, but I was walking it already, knowing better than to stop altogether after so hard a ride. Boton nudged my shoulder as a led it down the hill to the field where the Prince once more sat at his table. As I arrived, a stablehand took Boton’s reins from me and I thanked him. Not long after, the two sons moved to stand on either side of me.

“All three of you did well.” the Prince said, motioning for the crowd to quiet.

The city folk obeyed, a silence falling over all who attended to hear if there were any eliminations to be made. The Prince stood, moving to stand before the table. His expression was inscrutable. I almost dared a look to my grandfather, who remained seated, but thought better of it. I had yet to look at him that day, and it was best I kept it that way. If we made eye contact, I had no doubt he’d recognize me and I hadn’t come this far only to get caught.

“I cannot rightly declare a victory when there were none to be had.” the Prince continued.

“I’ve just been given word that the young lad who fell with his horse into the fountain was injured and is receiving care currently from my physicians. Rudhil will be missed upon the combat field this evening, and our hopes for his full recovery go out to he and his family. His injuries are a solemn reminder, of the nature of what the Swan Knights of this city do every day in service to each of us- and that service is not to be taken lightly.”

Here, the Prince offered a small smile, and I saw some hint of the kindness I’d hoped for in it as he looked down upon we three who remained. His hands came together as he looked us over, and as he looked upon me, he stopped momentarily. I felt panic rising in me as he continued to stare, yet then he looked out over the crowd and stretched out his arms.

“The final test comes at last.”

And at that the crowd erupted into a loud roar. It was by far, the favorite event. Behind me I could hear the folk of the city as they bellowed and stomped their feet in excitement. I too was excited, but it was an excitement of a different sort. I didn’t want to fight anyone, but I knew with practiced assurance that I could. This was the test I felt most ready for, and I was eager to show the Prince and the Knights, what I could do.

“Araval of Calembel, are you ready?” he asked, and the tall boy to my right shouted-

“Yes, Sire!” 

Imrahil nodded and turned to me, his expression grim and pointed.

“Ilmar of Dol Amroth, are you ready?” 

“Aye Sire!” I shouted, mimicking the servant of the hold’s common accent as best I was able.

The Prince nodded and turned to the last lad.

“Dirhael of Linhir, are you ready?”

“Yes Sire!” he shouted, his voice cracking at the last.

A chuckle rose in amusement among the crowd at the last boy’s youthful voice. He couldn’t be any older than fourteen summers as was the minimum. He would be a mountain of a man when fully grown, I thought with a pang of envy. I must look like a blade of grass beside these two.

“The three of you will arm yourselves and report to the combat field immediately.” the Prince ordered and with a bow, we each made our way back to our things to prepare.

I strapped on my shield and triple checked the straps before I saw to my swordbelt and blade. It was not a battle where blood would be drawn and we’d all been given strict orders to bring practice weapons only. But I was still proud of my sword, blunted steel though it was. I’d learned to wield a blade with it, suffered and sweat with it in hand. I could not see myself taking this step without it, even as battered and dented as it clearly was.

Making my way to the combat field I stopped for the Lord at Arms to look over and okay our weapons for the skirmish. This was the trickiest part, for this would be the closest I’d gotten to my grandfather since the day began. If he required me to speak, I was certain he’d figure it out. I could only hope he’d have no issue with my blade, nor be any more interested in it than he had when I was learning to use it- which had thus far been not at all.

Lord Edhelcar as he was known in the city, was a tall man with high cheek bones and a severe gaze. His hair had once been a glossy black like my own, but was by now, peppered heavily with silver. I could feel his eyes upon me as he came to my spot in the inspection line. He said nothing, looking over my shield as I held it out, then my practice blade. I made a concentrated effort of avoiding looking directly into his face.

“Are you in full agreement with the rules of engagement for this event?” he asked, his high born accent crisp and clean...as mine would be, if I hadn’t been feigning different all day.

“Aye sir.”

“Lord.” he corrected sharply.

“Aye, m’lord.” I said quickly, hoping my false ignorance of highborn custom had been convincing. If there was a single quickest way to earn my grandfather’s dismissal, it was to annoy him.

“Take your place on the field.” he said after what felt like an eternity and I nodded before hurrying out to join the others.

I’d made it, I thought, as the fight began without incident. For a while we three circled each other, marking differences in stance and step, looking for weaknesses- until the crowd jeered impatiently and insisted upon the show they’d come for. It was all Araval of Calembel needed. He lunged forward toward me, of course. Likely thinking me the least experienced, he brought his blade up and down toward my helm. His blade slashed only through air as I pivoted, let him pass, and brought my sword heavily upon his exposed arm. He yelped in pain, the shock of the impact enough to bruise flesh and the muscle beneath. He’d nearly dropped his weapon, but remembered himself and spun away from me.

I turned toward the one called Dirhael and brought my blade before me in time to block a swipe toward my midsection. Stepping in I jabbed with my shield arm and caught him in the jaw with it’s edge. Dirhael fell back upon his rump in the grass to the erupting laughter of the crowd. Three blows we were allowed before considered beaten...and I’d delivered their firsts before they’d landed but one upon me. I smiled softly, but forced myself to remain cautious. Now they’d be angry, now the real fight would begin.

Araval attempted to catch me by surprise, having snuck behind me while I dealt with Dirhael. I turned in time to catch a heavy strike with the guard of my sword, nearly dropping my shield as I attempted to hold his superior strength at bay with my own. My arms strained, strong from training but no match when going against the toned muscle of a lad larger than myself. I was going to lose. 

I dropped at the same time I released my sword from his guard and tackled him instead by barreling into his midsection beneath his blade. We both fell to the dirt and grappled for dominance. I knew here too he would have the advantage of size, so I moved as quick as my body was able. I dove away as soon as I had opportunity and rolled to my feet as I was taught. Dirhael was waiting for me there and I realized the two sons had made a silent agreement to take me out before dueling with each other. It was a grim realization, for I knew it heralded hardship to come if we three became squires at the same time.

I swung with my blade and caught Dirhael low on his sword as he pivoted. But I knew the maneuver he had in mind and mirrored the angle as I stepped in. Here, we were too close to dislodge our weapons, but I still had my shield. I pushed in, my shield hitting him hard with it’s breadth and forcing him back. My sword dislodged as he stumbled and this time I pivoted, my blade staying close and still touching against his. As I felt his blade come in, my stance became rooted as my sword held his out. The lip of my shield slammed into his helmet as I swung it and forced his sword down with mine at the same time. I pressed my advantage, slamming the edge of my shield this time into his iron guarded collar. He coughed hard, withdrawing as he choked from the force of the blow. 

Beneath my helmet, my smile was grim. This was no victory, and I felt no joy causing a lad near my own age this sort of pain. But I had no choice now, I could either win this, or let go of my dreams. I’d be too old to try the next summer. So I spun and quickly advanced upon Araval, who already had aimed for a downward strike across my back. I blocked with my shield, wondering momentarily why I was the only fighter on the field using one- then drove forward with my blade and the dull point jabbed hard into Araval’s gut. I felt and heard the air leave his lungs and he fell back. For a moment, I worried I’d caused him true injury and I hesitated..

A cracking blow to the back of my helmet sounded, ringing loud like a bell and breaking me free from the mistake of compassion upon the battlefield. Dirhael had landed the first blow on me, and with the two of them still fighting, I knew I could not afford another. 

“Two minutes remaining!” my grandfather shouted, and I breathed a sigh of near relief. 

I just had to make it two more minutes. Even if I didn’t win, I promised myself, I could last two minutes. Araval, having recovered from the blow to his throat, came at me hard and fast. I was sore pressed to aim my shield appropriately to block each strike, but I managed to do so. Again and again he struck wildly, his eyes wide and angry beneath the brim of his helm. It surprised me, for he’d seemed mildly tempered the rest of the day, but it should have been no surprise at all to realize, the other boys wanted this chance as much as I. We weren’t fighting to the death, that much I knew, but we might as well have for the desperation that hung in the air between us.

Dirhael screamed, having come in to gut me from behind while I dealt with Araval yet again, though this time I’d expected it. I made a wild leap to the side and turned just in time to watch as Dirhael passed through Araval’s guard and his practice sword poked hard into the mail of his shirt. That was the third hit, Araval was out. His entire body seemed to shrink as he realized this too. I was sorry for it, but the rules were such, and I knew no one would have felt moved had it been I instead of him.

Dirhael turned, his long sword held at the ready, and I could see the dark look of triumph upon his face. I’d never seen a face more in need of my fist in all my days-

“Time!” Prince Imrahil shouted, suddenly upon his feet on the platform.

I blinked. Dirhael blinked. The trials were over...and we’d both made it. But the day was not yet done, and I knew now would come the hardest part of all. Now we were to remove our helms, and be chosen by a knight to take as squire. It would be no real task for Dirhael, but for me, everything depended on it. What knight would take a girl to squire? Would the prince even allow it? Or would I be imprisoned for treason?

“Come, remove your helms and take a knee lads.” my grandfather shouted. 

The prince motioned to my grandfather and the two of them whispered to one another for a moment. My grandfather looked alarmed for a moment, then his jaw clenched and so too did my stomach- for he looked directly at me. He nodded, then motioned to us.

“Greet your Prince properly, champions of the day.”

Dirhael took off his helmet, a tumble of dark brown hair falling around a lean, pale face. A true son of Gondor, he was tall and grey eyed, likely to go far in service to the city and our Prince. I could not afford to hesitate before so large a crowd, and yet I found myself reeling as I reached up. Taking a deep breath, I looked to my grandfather and removed my helm. 

Dark hair fell in a tangled mess across my shoulders and down my back. A hushed silence fell over the crowd. From somewhere behind me I heard a voice shout,

“A woman!”

Then another, this one angry, shouted above a growing murmur,

“She mocks you sire!”

I dared then to look at Prince Imrahil, who stood stoically beside my grandfather- a stony expression upon his stern face. But it was not to me he looked, only the crowd. 

“How does she mock me?” he bellowed, after waiting for the crowd to quiet.

“Does she mock me by trying to defend my city?” he asked again, finally looking down upon me.

I felt the blood drain from my face beneath that cold gaze. But there was something else there, something softer I hadn’t noticed before...and for but a moment, I dared again to hope. There was a hint of a smile on the Prince’s lips as he turned toward the crowd.

“Come now, it wasn’t so long ago you all sung her praises. A most curious tale of a little girl fighting off pirates with nothing but a dagger. Why now does her love for our city stir you so? I cannot deny her, or any with a heart so brave, a chance at what they feel called to do. But she has broken a decree, set by my own hand no less, and thus must be judged.”

My heart sank as quickly as it had soared. But I knew what I’d done, more importantly, I’d known it was wrong before I did it. I could not argue against the consequences now. I could only accept them. My head hung, and though I dearly wished to cry, I would not. 

“Your name, child.”

“Ilmarein.” I answered, and he nodded.

“Ilmarein, I sentence you to six months morning stable duty for your dishonesty in this realm, you will report to the Horsemaster one hour before dawn every day until your punishment is done- regardless of whether or not you are chosen this day. If you do not, you will spend the remainder of your time in a cell, understood?”

I nodded and quickly answered,

“I understand, Sire. Thank you.”

It was a difficult punishment, but I knew well enough it was a mercy. I would indeed see it done. But for that moment, I could think only on if I were to be chosen. It was everything I’d dreamed of and worked for and entirely in the hands of the group of armored, stoic men staring at Dirhael and I. It was their choice, not ours, and we could only hope to have impressed one of them enough to become our teacher, and we their squire. 

“Who will take our recruits on?” Imrahil asked, turning back toward the Knights behind him.

“I will take Dirhael.” a voice from the men sounded and a man with light brown hair and the stubble of beard upon his sun weathered face stepped forward. 

This was Sir Aglahad, a highborn noble of Anfalas. I knew him because my female cousins spent a great deal of time giggling over the pleasantness of his face among others. I’d never understood it myself, but then I’d never spent much time thinking on it. I knew him to be a fine knight, one I would have enjoyed serving under for his swordsman skills. But Dirhael it seemed was the lucky one, and with a bounce in his step, he moved to his side. For a moment our eyes met, and I saw the same dark glee of bitter rivalry. I found I still very much wanted to bury my fist in Dirhael’s face.

I was next. I looked to each knight, wondering if he would be the one brave enough to take on a student like myself, only to find each one look pointedly away. I knew what it meant. I was being snubbed. I might have passed the test and proved myself able, but they did not deem me worthy. My cheeks flushed red with fury and shame and I looked down. The murmuring of the crowd fell to a hush as it dawned on them too what was happening. 

It took everything left in me to remain there, for I dearly wished to run from the field to hide my embarrassment. But without the Prince’s leave, I could not, I could only remain...under everyone’s scrutiny and the scorn of the knight’s I’d worked so hard to join. The first tear fell from my eyes even as I fought to keep it in and I knew I must be shaking. I felt weak, unwanted, and not for the first time in my life. 

“I will take Ilmarein as my squire.” a voice unexpectedly sounded, loud and clear from the high table.

I looked up in surprise, hurriedly wiping the tear from my cheek as I did. Standing behind the table was the Prince’s second born, Erchirion. He was tall, slim, dark haired and as stern faced as his father, but he looked on me now with a slight glint of amusement in his grey eyes and I found myself smiling in return. Though a royal, he was indeed a knight, as his elder brother was a ship captain in their father’s navy. He could take me on if he chose and no one could say otherwise. I looked to his father, who only nodded, and needing no further encouragement, hurried to his side.

I had done it. I was a squire to a Swan Knight...and not just any knight. The Prince’s son. It was almost enough to make me forget the way my grandfather was looking at me as we made arrangements for the days and training to come. I had disobeyed him, and I knew no one but my mother had dared that before. There would be a price higher than mucking out royal stables waiting for me when I got home...of that I was absolutely certain.


End file.
